


Mexican Funeral T-Shirt

by penink



Series: Mexican Funeral T-Shirt [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Evil, Gen, I even was going to have them talk about it after s2, I just wanted to write something kind of sad about Dirk losing Todd's shirt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), Somehow no archive warnings apply but it's so messed up anyway, Thanks to the discord server for supporting my malevolent ideas, and telling Todd he lost his shirt and being really upset over it idk, maybe one day I'll write about Dirk breaking down, this is more about willpower than losses, this is not a happy fic, this went in a different direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penink/pseuds/penink
Summary: Dirk had just wanted to hold onto something.  Of course they even took that from him.Or: Dirk's first week at Blackwing and the secondary losses he suffered.
Series: Mexican Funeral T-Shirt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017817
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	Mexican Funeral T-Shirt

Dirk couldn’t stop thinking that he should never have gone outside despite knowing that it wouldn’t have saved him anyway. Dirk’s only protest had been an exhausted _not now_ , because hadn’t he always known that he would end up right back here? He hadn’t imagined it would be _Blackwing,_ at least not so soon, but eventually he was going to end up alone. In the past few hours, Todd reaching out to him, Farah supporting the agency, he had actually begun to fall for the ruse that maybe things would be stable for him. He should have known better.

Why, _why_ had he gone outside? Some strange pull, not even covered by some false logic telling him this made any manner of sense, but some deep rooted instinct telling him he _needed_ to get out of the diner. Maybe it had been to protect his friends. Dirk desperately hoped so. He hoped that the universe had also realized this was unavoidable and had sent Dirk outside to avoid collateral. The only alternative was that the universe _wanted_ him to be taken back to Blackwing. Dirk couldn’t accept that kind of betrayal. It had been a hard enough day without pushing him to once more doubt the driving force in his very messy life. 

The only one to blame was Blackwing. Not Dirk or even the universe, but just one man. Just Friedkin. Riggins nowhere in sight, just that smug blond bastard with a disconcerting level of authority. Dirk didn’t beg. He knew this wasn’t an instance where he could talk his way out and he certainly couldn’t fight. Shouting for help was a good way to get more innocent people killed. 

“So, I’m kind of new at this,” Friedkin, in a new suit and a promotion, still sounded the same. “And I don’t want to have to shoot you ‘cause then I’ll have to clean up. So, can you just, like, follow me? You’re the first project I’ve picked up myself and I don’t wanna mess it up.” 

It was strange how Friedkin sounded like he was sincerely asking for a favor. Like he wasn’t pointing a gun at Dirk. 

“Where’s Colonel Riggins?” Dirk tried to keep his voice level, his hands raised slightly in case Friedkin was as trigger happy as he remembered. 

“Riggins? They fired him or something,” Friedkin motioned for Dirk to walk further down the alley. “ _He_ couldn’t do what needed to be done and, like, I can.” Friedkin sounded much too certain. 

Dirk trusted Riggins about as far as he could spit, but he also knew what Riggins was capable of and what he was generally willing to do. Friedkin had none of that familiarity. The standard armored black van was around the corner. Dirk wanted to run. 

“You really need two guards? What am I going to do, crash the van? Are you going to keep that gun on me for the whole drive?” Dirk didn’t know where he was getting the courage to be so sarcastic, especially considering how insecure Friedkin seemed. The only reason Dirk wasn’t shouting for Farah to come save him was because surely even Farah Black wouldn’t be able to survive a squad of government agents who had no qualms about killing people. He refused to let his friend get shot because of him. 

“Oh, right!” Friedkin hit his forehead, “ _duh_ , thanks for reminding me-” 

“What?” Dirk’s words faltered. “What’re you- Wait- _Wait_ -” One of the guards had a syringe. “Don’t- You don’t need to-” An arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him back, a pinching pain in his neck and the world began to blur around him. “Please…” Somehow Dirk had thought the universe would get him out of this one. He hadn’t really taken this seriously until he felt his limbs grow weaker. Dirk was consumed by hopelessness, unable to move and fighting for consciousness as these strangers dragged him into the van. 

Dirk regained consciousness with a racing heart. It was almost instinctual. That _smell_ \- Sterile and cold and sharp. There was something particularly sinister about how that smell brought back memories of childhood. So much empty space and long corridors and no windows… Dirk had hoped he would never experience that smell again. Dirk woke up on the floor of a room that was both familiar and unfamiliar. He had never been in this exact room before, but he definitely knew it. A camera, a black screen, a door with no handle, walls that were either an off-white or a dull gray, a doorless frame into an equally utilitarian bathroom, shelves with identical shoes - no laces for obvious reasons - and a dozen identical dark gray jumpsuits with a shade of orange that almost made Dirk flinch. That symbol. That godforsaken symbol- the only color in this room and it was weaponized against him. Dirk noted that they had taken his shoes, as they had laces, and had taken his phone and wallet. Other than that and a residual headache, he was untouched. 

“No no no, this- this can’t be happening,” Dirk mumbled under his breath. Dirk was desperately trying to contain his panic. Noise drew attention. Attention was rarely good. The only good attention had been a finite resource that Dirk now knew not to trust. Not that it mattered, even Riggins’ feeble protection was lost to him. Dirk was truly alone here. His only solace against the sterile numbness was the bright yellow of his jacket and the faint scent of Todd’s apartment from his shirt. Dirk remained on the floor, rocking slightly, trying to ground himself. Oh god- He was in Blackwing. _He was in Blackwing._

Dirk knew he was being watched. That was always the case, but he had also learned that there were times when it wasn’t worth caring if they saw him break down. Right now Dirk needed to try and remember how to breathe. Dirk really had to hope he was alone here. That Friedkin hadn’t gone back for his friends. Maybe he _should_ have shouted, to try and warn them. Dirk knew they wouldn’t kill him, they still thought he was useful, but there was no reason for them to keep Todd and Farah alive. Unless maybe to control Dirk. Neither option helped him calm down. 

“They’re gonna get you out,” Dirk clung to the only remnant he had of Todd alongside the hope that he and Farah would find a way to save him. The universe wouldn’t leave him in here to die, he wouldn’t be able to do his job that way, right? “They’re coming for you. They’re going to save you.” Todd and Farah. The universe would guide them here and they would all get out okay, surely. Dirk would like to think he had been through worse, the past week alone had involved a lot of explosions and blood and general badness, but this was going to be worse. Blackwing was unending. At times Dirk had resented the universe for throwing him from one situation to another, but anything was better than the numbness, the perpetual destimulation, that he knew was waiting for him. _The universe will reward you._ Bullshit. The universe had kept him alive, sometimes barely, and that was it. 

Dirk hadn’t felt trapped like this in so long. So much restless and terrified energy made him want to scream, to tear at the walls, to break things despite being fully aware of the consequences. Dirk did none of those things. Dirk first, despite knowing it was utterly useless, went to the door. No handle, only a keypad which would definitely not open for him. He curled up on the thin mattress, staring at the door so he could at least see them coming. Blackwing was either going to come for him soon and refuse to let him rest for hours, or they would leave him to drown in silence for even longer. 

Dirk knew they were coming, but he still jumped to his feet when that door opened. Friedkin. Two guards on either side of him different from the ones who had helped abduct him. 

“Project Icarus,” was how Friedkin greeted him. Dirk did his best not to flinch. Friedkin seemed far too excited. It definitely wasn’t helping with Dirk’s nerves. Friedkin frowned. “You’re not in uniform. Why not?” 

Dirk was too offended to be afraid, “you _kidnapped_ me- you expect me to jump on board with all of this nonsense full of enthusiasm?!” 

Friedkin hardly seemed to process his words, “but… you’re a Blackwing subject. You’re _supposed_ to be in here.” 

“Is that what you think?” Dirk scoffed. Still, he stepped back when Friedkin and his entourage stepped into the room. “I am also a _person._ You do realize that, right? You can’t just kidnap people and-” 

“Yeah, but I can,” Friedkin stepped closer, laughing under his breath as if Dirk were being the unreasonable one. “And like, you’re not _really_ a person. You’re part of all this holistic stuff. You’re psychic.” 

If Dirk hadn’t been full of dread before that definitely sent him spiraling. _You’re not really a person._ “You- You can’t-” 

“I guess you’re right. The uniform doesn’t matter. You’ll get used to it eventually,” Friedkin still acted like this was all conversational. “Come on, then.” 

When Dirk didn’t immediately move the two guards grabbed onto either arm and dragged him into the hall. Dirk was weak and afraid, but he had no intention of going quietly. 

“Let _go_ of me!” Dirk tried to yank free of their grip, but even in the best of circumstances Dirk was not one for fighting. He was really missing Farah right now. That didn’t stop Dirk from trying to make things difficult for them. Dirk tried to dig his heels into the ground but his socks, mismatched and more brightly colored than this entire building, couldn’t get a grip. They had taken his shoes to stop him from trying to kill himself, but that also definitely contributed to his continuing sense of helplessness. Dirk had absolutely no control here. The universe always pushing and pulling never stopped Dirk from making his own choices. He could play that game however he chose, it was big enough that he could at least pretend his choices mattered, but here Dirk couldn’t control anything. Not his body and certainly not his circumstances. 

“Get off! I said get off of me!” Dirk should have been used to people ignoring him, but the fact that all of this was terribly familiar was part of the problem. Dirk, grim determination and perhaps a little bit of stupidity, left him throwing all of his bodyweight into the guard at his right, slamming him into the wall. This definitely took them by surprise, but Dirk wasn’t even given the chance to run before the second guard pinned him to the wall. Dirk gasped, his still wounded shoulder throbbing painfully. 

Friedkin seemed rather unperturbed. “What’re you _doing_ , man? You do know we’re in, like, a government facility, right? You’re just supposed to guess some stuff right. And then…” Dirk, now with his hands pinned behind his back, was pushed further down the hall. Friedkin had trailed off. It seemed after Dirk proved his psychic abilities, he wasn’t sure what to do next. 

The guards - far more roughly now - shoved him into a chair. Dirk’s shoulder still ached painfully from their aggressive treatment. It seemed Friedkin had no idea how this usually went as he just stood there, waiting. In front of Dirk was a table with different patterns and buttons. It was a familiar setup, but it had seemed more fitting when he was a child. Although, he supposed the tests would have grown more advanced had he shown any actual sign of psychic ability. 

“And what exactly do you expect me to do now?” Dirk said. 

“You know,” Friedkin gestured vaguely. “Guess the things and, you know, predict it or whatever.” 

“I am not a psychic. And I am not going to sit here and play along with all of this nonsense because it will do _nothing._ That fundamental connection to the universe? It doesn’t work in a box. Blackwing never understood that. And clearly you don’t,” Dirk tried to stand, but the two guards on either side forced him back into the chair. Dirk was relatively good at masking his emotions and thus far he had managed to feign contempt when sassing Friedkin but being physically held down definitely made it harder to contain his unrivaled panic. 

“Stop. You- You aren’t going to get the results you want. And- And my friends will come for me,” Dirk stopped struggling just so they would stop _touching_ him. 

“What are you _talking_ about, man?” Friedkin laughed. “No one is coming for you.” 

Dirk felt frozen, hoping desperately that his worst fears weren’t true. “If… if you hurt my friends I swear I will-” 

“Look, I dunno what you’re going on about, but can you like, just try?” Friedkin ignored what he said and returned to the task at hand. 

Dirk his eyes still locked on Friedkin, pressed a button at random. To his left a screen brightly flashed and an automated voice drolled out _WRONG._ Dirk felt sick with the tension that sound brought back, but surely he could survive it. It was just a voice. 

“I said _try._ Quit screwing with me, man,” Friedkin whined. 

Dirk leaned forward. “ _No._ You got that? _No._ I am not getting sucked back into this- this bullshit ever again! I am _not_ a psychic.” 

“What’d you mean _no?_ You can’t do that,” Friedkin simply could not compute. His stubborn idiocy might have been funny if Dirk weren’t wholly at his mercy. 

“Apparently, I can,” Dirk snapped. Sarcastic or not, he still flinched when Friedkin stepped forward. But Friedkin headed for the door, followed by his two guards. The door shut and Dirk heard the lock click shut. Dirk didn’t know if he should feel relieved or more terrified. 

Dirk remained frozen, waiting for someone to return. Nothing. Dirk was abandoned to the harsh artificial lights and the dull hum of static. His anxiety waned enough that he got to his feet, pacing the room. Dirk was afraid, but he had nothing left to lose. He was not going to blindly obey after fighting so hard to forget this place. 

_What’s the worst they can do? Nothing you haven’t been through already._

Dirk stared at the camera monitoring him. A soulless eye that refused to blink. He grabbed the button set on the table, yanked out the chord, and threw it at the camera. He missed. 

“Bloody _typical!_ ” Dirk shouted into empty air, giving it another shot. Again, he missed. It didn’t help that his hands were shaking. 

Third time around, the glass lens cracked. Dirk waited with bated breath, looking to the door, waiting for someone to barge in and punish him. Nothing. For far too long there was only silence. Dirk knew goading a reaction was almost the stupidest thing he could do here, but being left alone in silence was a nightmare in itself. Dirk definitely hadn’t had much consistent company over the past sixteen years, but this kind of isolation had been lost to him for a long time. Dirk was always needed somewhere, and life never stopped moving, but here he had nothing to focus on. 

Dirk paced the room, the daunting combination of too much empty space and unyielding walls closing him in made his anxiety build more and more. He just needed a plan. Yes, that was it. He just needed to think things through and prepare. Get ready for some Farah-y badassery where he would be smart and cool and fight off the Blackwing guards. Until they inevitably drugged him again. 

Eventually Dirk grew tired of pacing. He must have been locked in this room for hours now. He turned the chair towards the door, sitting and waiting. They would have to come for him eventually. Dirk’s leg bounced agitatedly. He kept tugging on his sleeve, fiddling with the material of his yellow jacket. Dirk had been nauseous since he had woke up here. It was that _smell._ Like chemicals and basements. Dirk felt a lump in his throat, but he didn’t want to break down. He wanted to pretend he was strong for as long as he could manage. He breathed in the scent of Todd’s apartment and his exhale was a shuddering sob. He was so tired. He didn’t want any of this. 

Dirk’s hypervigilance paid off only in the sense that he was awake when they startled him, he still jumped, his heart already racing when that door opened. Two guards without Friedkin, they each took an arm, dragging him towards the hall. Dirk might as well have struggled against stone for all the good it did. The guards did not look at him or talk to him, merely held on tighter as he resisted. 

He was shoved back into his room, the door closed and locked behind him. Food was on a metal tray at the foot of the bed. It seemed they were planning on leaving him alone for now. Dirk was so tired. He wanted to have a hot shower, something to eat, and to go to bed. But not here. Dirk couldn’t relax here. Instead he paced, tugging at his hair, unable to breathe quite right. Either several hours had passed or barely one. 

It was far more dangerous to the mental health of a child to be locked in isolation. As a boy Dirk had suffered from severe anxiety because of it alongside a dozen other things, but at least at some point he had earned a few books, a few toys. Sometimes Riggins would visit and talk to him. 

Dirk had nothing here. And due to his refusal, he didn’t even have the structure of inane experiments to pass the time. He didn’t want to be passive in all of this. Dirk looked around the room for something, anything. He grabbed one of the shoes, all identical, and chucked it at the camera in the corner. The flimsy material wasn’t enough to break it, even if his aim had gotten better. 

Dirk settled in the corner of the room, knees tucked into his chest. It was far from dignified, but these were far from dignified circumstances. Dirk wanted to break down into sobs, but he was both afraid of showing weakness and convinced nothing he did mattered so what was the point? Dirk couldn’t stand the smell of this place. It was so sterile and stale. The soaps they had here weren’t exactly better, but Dirk was also clammy with sweat and felt unclean from being dragged around by strangers. He _hated_ them touching him, he hated that nothing he did would change what would happen to him. 

Dirk took the time to pace a little longer before finally giving up and curling into a ball on the thin mattress. He kept his yellow jacket draped over him instead of the scratchy blankets and he held onto Todd’s mexican funeral shirt like a lifeline. He drifted off at some point, but it was an uneasy and lonely sleep. 

Dirk didn’t know how long they let him rest, but soon enough guards returned and dragged him, with feeble resistance, back to the room he had been in before. They abandoned him there to the silence. 

Were they just planning on waiting him out? For him to grow so bored he caved? In any other situation that would have been more than likely, Dirk hated boredom and did his best to avoid it at all costs, likely by design considering the universe’s inclination to throw him into chaos. Dirk would not let them win out. Not these people and not here. Dirk was also, for the most part, above begging. Part of him wanted to shout out his frustration that _this isn’t how it works_ , but he knew it was a waste of breath. The camera in the corner of the room had been replaced. It was perhaps more frustrating that no one had acknowledged him breaking it in the first place. No consequences, which was surely a good thing, but also no reaction, no activity, no _anything._

So the day went by. Until Dirk was once more tossed into his room. Sleep came less easily now, no adrenaline to exhaust him and instead only boredom. Whatever constituted as morning came and the cycle repeated. Dirk was surprised they brought him back to his room at all. The more practical - the more Riggins-esque answer - would be to leave him in that room until he either complied or begged for water. Maybe not blatant punishment, not often at least, but that kind of cold apathy was enough to break the will of a child easily. Children needed to be loved, and if the closest thing he could get was Riggins giving him a pat on the head he would take it desperately. 

Now, older, wiser, and far less trusting, Dirk knew that whatever consequences they offered wouldn’t break him. Dirk hated it, but he could survive the lack of stimulation for now. He refused to think on the fact that there was no end in sight, that no matter now long he refuse to play their games he wouldn’t be let _go_. Dirk just didn’t want to go easily. Maybe it was just wounded pride, but he didn’t want to be a good little _project_ ever again. He did manage to cling to some semblance of sanity, by sitting as far out of view of the camera as possible and focusing on the yellow of his jacket, the only color in the room, and the fact that even here in this dismal place a part of Todd was there to sustain him, old t-shirt or not. They would save him. Dirk inhaled deeply. The scent of Todd’s detergent and his apartment and just _Todd_ had begun to fade. He would hold on while he could. His first friend, surely he and Farah would come for him soon, right? The universe would _want_ them to get him out, right? Dirk focused on that thought like a prayer. 

Even as the cycle continued. 

Dirk shot up, breathing heavily into the empty room. He was growing desperate, but not desperate enough that he would deprive himself of what little comforts this place had to offer. He was starved, and he had to feel some sense of gratefulness that they were still feeding him. Dirk gloomily ate what they gave him. He didn’t know how long he had been there. Time was growing blurrier by the day. Maybe a week now? Dirk wanted to take a shower, he had been putting it off as the thought of the way the soap smelled here made him shudder. Maybe he could get away with drowning himself. 

Dirk had worked so hard to lean away from pessimism and suicidal ideation in his sixteen years of freedom, every act of positivity, every effort he made for the greater good, was an act of rebellion. He would not let that resistance slip away so easily. The fact of it was that no harm he could cause himself would actually harm blackwing, if he tried to starve himself, that could easily be solved by an IV. 

Dirk hated being helpless. He hated that realism and pessimism had become the same construct to him here. Dirk didn’t know what to do besides what he was allowed, if that meant eating the food that was given to him and trying to take care of himself, he would do it. There was this illusion that the best way to protest against his captors is to abstain from everything they offer, but there was nothing noble about resisting whatever mercies they gave him. 

Dirk took a shower. This was a different blackwing, a new building and a new authority, but the soap smelled the same. Nothing special about it other than the memories which made him gag. 

Despite all the terror, nothing thus far had made Dirk’s blood run cold like stepping out to see the room had been restored to its previous conditions. The old tray of food gone, the sheets on the bed straightened out, those he could deal with. His old clothes had been taken away. 

Dirk bottled his panic long enough to get dressed, he felt vulnerable enough, but after that he couldn’t contain any of his terror. Whatever self control he had managed thus far was fading. That fucking t shirt, that yellow jacket, they were all he had. 

_They were all he had._

Dirk didn’t know if what was inside of him was anger. Whatever it was would soon break out of him or break him. He _needed_ to do something, he needed _something._ He was in one of those fucking jumpsuits again. It felt like guilt and shame and fear itching at his skin. The lines of orange were a brand marking him. 

Maybe Friedkin was right. It had been a week– or around there, he had no idea– and already this terrible, violent itch in the back of his head whispered _you’re not really human. You’re Project Icarus, remember?_

Dirk was not a violent person. But again, maybe he wasn’t a _person_ at all. He had hardly been there, nothing close to the years of torment he remembered, but _time_ wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that they had stolen what last vestige of identity, of _love_ he had to hold onto. Dirk knew better by now to know it wasn’t a passive act. It was a punishment, an act of violence. And they had succeeded. Dirk couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _think_. He was utterly alone. 

Dirk could feel nothing but his lungs struggling to take in air, the cold of the room biting at him, the walls closing in. Then things blurred further... 

Dirk was… he was _bleeding._ His hand was bruised now, and there was blood dripping from his head. He had thrown himself against the door. More than once. The question wasn’t why Dirk had done that, even if his lack of awareness should have frightened him, the question was why had he _stopped?_

He was on the floor, he’d been knocked back by the door opening. Rough hands dragged him to his feet, slamming him to the wall and pinning his hands behind his back. Ah. That was why. Dirk barely felt the pinch of a needle as once more they sedated him. 

Dirk came to, his head aching, his entire _body_ aching, with the strangest feeling that he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. _Oh._

Dirk was blindfolded. There was a gag in his mouth and he was tied down. Dirk couldn’t even panic properly because he _couldn’t move._ A feeble whimper managed to escape through the gag, and he struggled desperately against his restraints, but it was useless. If Dirk thought he had panicked before– 

No matter how hard he screamed, he could barely make a sound. He couldn’t see, he didn’t know where he was or if he was alone or _anything._ It didn’t matter how big the room was, he was trapped, everything closing in on him as he couldn’t even sit up or turn or do anything besides choke on his own sobs. He couldn’t beg for mercy. 

Dirk didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he didn’t want to choke on his words, thrashing blindly, wishing he could see _anything._

Dirk remained there for hours. Eventually his screaming stopped. He was too tired for it. His head was pounding. Despite his exhaustion, Dirk still flinched when the sound of a door opening startled him. Not even startled _awake_ , Dirk couldn’t bring himself to sleep like this. Dirk’s yelp was muffled as strange hands untied him. He was dragged to his feet. Dirk maybe resisted for a moment, but already he was remembering what fear truly was. He was almost carried down the hall, shoved into another room. He flinched as the blindfold was removed, followed by the gag. 

“P-Please-” Dirk’s voice had grown so hoarse despite the difficulty screaming caused. The two guards didn’t acknowledge him. He was just an object to them, a tool they were tasked with maintaining. Dirk was even more baffled when they turned to leave. 

“You have a half hour,” were the first words he had heard in days. 

Dirk wanted to use that precious time to break down, but survival came first. He would eat, he would take care of himself, and then he would prepare for the worst. 

And the worst came for him. True to their word, after 30 minutes had passed– ominously counted down on the screen in the room– two guards returned. They did not tie him down or gag him, simply dragged him down the hall yet again. Back to that same room. The same damn _puzzles_ that had given him nightmares as a child. The guard shoved him into the room far more roughly than necessary, knocking him to the ground. Dirk got to his feet slowly, weak, terrified, but no less defiant. 

“This isn’t how it works,” he managed to mutter hoarsely. Dirk wasn’t making eye contact anymore. He just kept staring at the floor. A bad sign. 

The door was locked behind him. Dirk hated this room, but at least here he could move, he could see. He could even scream if he wanted to. Not yet. 

Dirk, far more shaken up than he was before, was all the more adamant not to fall in line with their expectations. Dirk just wanted that fucking t-shirt. One thing, one pathetic, measly thing and they had torn it away from him. Dirk was not going to do their _puzzles_. 

No one asked him to. No one rebuked him. No one interacted with him at all, simply left him there with the expectation that maybe if they waited another hour he would obey. Dirk refused. 

Surely Dirk had been there all day if not longer. Maybe they were going to keep him there until he caved no matter what. He was growing hungry now. Dirk had been expecting them, waiting for them, but he still jumped when that door opened. No one scolded him. No one _spoke_ to him, instead they grabbed onto him and once more dragged him from the room. Dirk must have bruises on his arms by now, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t be going away any time soon. His shoulder was already aching nonstop from the bolt he had been shot with, what, a week ago? Dirk had to stop thinking about things within the constructs of time. It was going to drive him mad. 

Dirk was shoved roughly back into his room. 

“A half hour,” the man said shortly before shutting the door. 

Dirk felt sick. Was their plan to keep him in that room for hours at a time, letting him out so he could keep himself functional before putting him back until he broke? Surely he could survive that. Dirk had no intention of having a breakdown like the one he had prior. The outcome had been more than enough to get him to control his hysteria. Dirk had learned a long time ago that panic led to pain. He could bury it deep. 

A half hour later, as promised, they returned. Dirk stood wearily, but at least they weren’t starving him yet. At least so far they hadn’t forced him to stay awake for more than ten hours (10ish?) at a time. He could survive the tedium. 

“Wait, no- You don’t need to do that-” Dirk froze. They had the blindfold, the gag, and the bonds again. “Please- I won’t fight you-” Dirk yelped when the man nearest pinned him to the bed, tying his wrists, his partner forcing the gag over his mouth and the blindfold in suit. Dirk couldn’t beg them to stop. He didn’t know where they were dragging him to now, but he had a feeling. 

Dirk was tied down in the dark, screaming futilely for them not to leave him there. They had been careful. The bonds around his wrists were thick enough that he wouldn’t cut into his wrists and the floor was just padded enough he couldn’t hurt himself as he had before. Dirk just wanted to be able to do _something._ Any reflection of control. It hurt to sob, choking and barely able to breathe, tears wetting the blindfold. Dirk never wanted to be helpless again. He hated being _weak._

Dirk could only focus on the ache of his wounded shoulder, the cold of the air, the slow struggle to breathe. There was nothing else for him to hold onto. At times he could only scream into the gag just to know he was still there, that he could still make a sound, _any_ sound. 

How much more could he take? 

The cycle continued. The only difference being this time Dirk was brought into the other room and was tied to the chair in front of the table, straps around his torso so his hands were left free, but only just. They refused to give him the liberty of being able to pace restlessly. He had to earn the right to exist. Dirk stared off into space. He could have easily played along, but some deep rooted defiance he had fought for for sixteen years still clung to hope. Hope for _what?_ That Todd and Farah would save him before he truly lost it? Dirk had no fight left in him when they picked him up again. They tossed him into his room– or maybe his _old_ room would be more apt as they seemed to plan on dragging him off again– and Dirk didn’t even bother to eat. He just waited. 

They didn’t tell him to eat. They expressed no concern or feeling whatsoever. Dirk knew pleading was worthless. He knew exactly what they wanted, but it seemed that defiance was the one thing he had left to control. Dirk hadn’t thought he would begin to crumble this early. Then again, he hadn’t thought that his emotional attachment to a _t-shirt_ would be the tipping point. Dirk hated the dark. He couldn’t stand the quiet, or the fact that he was so sore and bruised from the many abuses his body had been through in the past weeks and he had nothing else to focus on. He only wished that he would pass out sooner the longer he refused to eat. 

Dirk, in rare fits, kept on struggling against his bonds. Other times he would remain unmoving, or he would scream himself hoarse, barely audible through the gag. The raw frustration of not being able to get the blindfold to move an inch was paired with the terrible melancholy that there was no end in sight. Friedkin had seemed like such a joke. Dirk had been aware that the unknown of Friedkin’s Blackwing should have been enough to terrify, but he truly hadn’t quite taken the man seriously. And now, intelligent or not, that man was responsible for his suffering. Not just that one foolish man, it was _Blackwing._ Surely he had known deep down they would come for him eventually, but the _moment_ he had one good thing in his life they had to take it all away. The moment he was not only free but maybe even _happy_ he was brought down to his lowest. And the final blow was to tear away the only vestige he had left of that life. 

Dirk knew even before they tied him down to that chair that he was done fighting. Still, one more piece of him died when he pressed that button. 

_WRONG._

**Author's Note:**

> This was a rough one. If you managed to get through it- thank you. Truly. Any feedback you can offer would be much appreciated. You can check out my other, less horrible dghda fics, _The Assistant_ and _The Neighbor_ as well! Thanks for reading x


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